


Empty Oceans

by iwastetimechasingcars



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gift Fic, M/M, OKAY BUT, and an excitable marco, i loved this, i loved writing this, i tried really hard to get everything in character, jeanmarco, marine biologist! marco, merman!jean, with a grumpy jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:15:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwastetimechasingcars/pseuds/iwastetimechasingcars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco lowers his voice, despite them being the only ones there. “Was that you there with me?”</p>
<p>It’s a long shot, and he knows it. He thinks that whatever he saw shouldn’t be real, and that logically it wouldn’t be possible. Evolution would have made them look different. There’s no proof. It was impossible. <br/>--</p>
<p>“Beautiful.” Marco breathed out. “Remarkable. Everything about you is so infinitely remarkable.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Oceans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zeldagalz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldagalz/gifts).



> Hello zeldagalz! I'm your secret santa gifter! On tumblr I am theactualpeterparker, and I tried my best to go along with your prompt and I hope you enjoy this! Happy holidays!
> 
> listened to this: http://8tracks.com/shewasdramatic/hypothetically-yours

“There’s an irregularity with the pH level in the water.” Marco said to his two crewmates. He held tightly onto the litmus paper and continued to look through the indicators, as if the color on the paper would change and magically reach normal levels.

 

“What’s wrong with it?” Sasha threw a head over her shoulder to him and tightened her life vest.

 

She walked over to him, stepping around their equipment, careful not to slip with the motion of the boat.

 

“It’s too basic.” He held the litmus paper to the indicator labeled _8.7_ , where the two colors matched.

 

“I mean so are you but…” Sasha joked, but stopped after seeing Marco’s deadpanned face. She knelt down to his level and looked at the observation. “Well, wasn’t that described in the file?

The observed pH level in European waters can be up to 9.5.”

 

“That’s for the drinking water!” Connie shouted from over the other side of the boat. His life vest was too loose on his body, making him look like a small child instead of a highly esteemed marine biologist. “European sea water should be about 8.0!”

 

There is a moment when Sasha registers that, numerically, 8.7 and 8.0 are not too far apart, but on the pH scale, _it’s a very big gap._

 

“How fresh is the litmus paper?” she asked, looking away from Marco and rummaged through the rest of their equipment. “It’s possible that the data can be inaccurate if left out to sit for too

long as it dried.”

 

“I just took this data.” Marco put down the litmus paper and the indicators to write notes down in his folder. _pH lvls high 8.7_

 

“Connie!” Sasha called out. “Move your things.” She pointed to the table where Marco had left all of his notes scattered around held with paper weights. Sasha looked through one of the totes under the table, searching for all that her marine biologist heart desired as Marco hurriedly moved his notes out of the way before Sasha released hell onto them.

 

“What’s up—whoa!” The boat was hit with a strong wave, causing Connie to lose his balance on the way over to Sasha. He slammed into the safety railing, face contorting with pain, and would have been in more pain had his life vest not cushioned his ribs. With a grimace, Connie treaded carefully over to the pair.

 

Sasha stood up and laid out a rolled sheet of paper on the table. With the paper weights Sasha now claimed as her own, she laid it down flat, showing the coast of Poitou-Charentes. She pulled out a highlighter from god-knows-where and circles the position of where their current boat was.

 

“If the water is too basic,” Sasha said, “Then acidification is the easy solution.”

 

“We need to see what kind of seaweed grows here. If we introduce a new species it’ll throw the biosphere off and cause irreversible damage.” Connie said.

 

“Are there even fish living down here?” Marco asked. “I know this is coast is famous for fishing but for almost a year, there have been reports of depleting fish levels.”

 

“Could be from the alkaline levels.” Connie suggested.

 

“No,” Sasha argued. “The fish levels went down before the reported pH change.”

 

“What about the seaweed? If that decreased within the water—“

 

“It explains the fish being gone and the pH levels rising.”

 

“But there’s no clear explanation for why the seaweed would be decreasing.” Sasha mumbled. “If

the fish leave because there is a dramatic decrease in seaweed, then logically the seaweed would grow back from the lack of competition.”

 

“Not necessarily.” Connie said. He swivels around and looks through the same tote that Sasha had been looking through. “Remember when we were in class and Professor Hanji said that an environmental change like this isn’t from overpopulation or anything like that?”

 

“She described it as a side effect.” Marco said. He crossed his arms and looked down to Connie’s small body.

 

“Yes! Exactly!” Connie said, “So that would mean there was something huge that happened in the Atlantic waters that caused such a drastic change!”

 

“Something like what?” Sasha asked. “The closest thing that ever happened was the BP oil spill.”

 

“But that was in the Gulf of Mexico.” Connie supplied. He pulled out a manila folder with edges curling in on themselves and yellowing pages out over the map. “And that would have taken decades to affect the marine life so exponentially.”

 

“Wait,” Marco said. He walked over to the edge of the boat, looking out into the water. The waves had been calm this entire morning, but as the afternoon grew nearer, he could see the ocean leaving its sleepy haze. “How do we know there isn’t any seaweed?”

Sasha tightened her ponytail and walked over to Marco. “Ideally, we don’t unless we go down there to take pictures.”

 

“Is there anything to compare it to?” Marco asks. “It’s pointless unless we know how much seaweed was there before.”

 

“There’s reference picture in the city records.” Sasha says. She looks away from the sea and to her wrist. “If we leave now we can take an early lunch and swing by to get the records.”

 

Connie’s face lights up with excitement, and Marco puts a hand out.

 

“If we come back in the afternoon, the data we collect will be affected by too many variables.” He says. “If there are really any fish down there, they are more likely to come out during the morning.”

 

“You’re right,” Sasha says. Her face falls. “But all the other data we need to collect involves us going underwater.”

 

“We didn’t bring the waterproof camera.” Connie says. He shoves his hands into his pockets.

 

“All we can do is take samples. The vegetation. Temperature. Sedimentary.”

 

“I’ll go down.” Marco says. “I want to see how it looks. I-If you guys don’t mind, that is.”

 

 -------------------------------------

 

“One pull for yes, two for no, and three when you want to come back up.” Sasha tells him. She secures every rope, every strap, and every loose string on Marco’s scuba diving gear. It feels like a second skin on him, and his hair makes it itchy inside.

 

“We’ll be talking with you through this Bluetooth via yes or no questions.” Connie holds up a small earpiece, and almost hands it to Marco before realizing Marco’s hands are putting on gloves. Connie opens the side entrance of the face gear and slips the earpiece in and lets it go.

The material sharply slaps Marco’s face. “Sorry.”

 

“There aren’t supposed to be sharks or jellyfish in these waters,” Sasha tells him, “But if you see something you don’t like, three tugs.” She holds up three of her fingers.

 

_“Marco, can you hear me?”_ Connie’s voice resonates statically through the earpiece. Marco gives Connie a thumbs up.

“In these vials,” Sasha held up two vials in front of Marco’s face, “Sedimentary and water.” She slipped them into a belt onto his gear. “If there’s any seaweed grab as much as you can and come back up.”

 

_“If you see any fish try to remember what they look like.”_ Connie says. He leads Marco over to the edge of the boat, where he straps on the harnesses. With every step, Marco’s flippers making a sharp _slap_.

 

“The small oxygen tank only lasts about ten minutes.” Sasha tells him, helping him get onto the ledge. “Connie will you a five minute, three minute, and one minute warning.”

 

_“If you’re not up by thirty seconds of oxygen left, we pull you up.”_ Connie says. Marco puts the goggles over his face.

 

 ------------------------------------------------

 

At first, he was hoping the water would be clear, like it was in marine life documentaries about coral reefs.

 

There were two problems with his assumption. 1) Not a coral reef and 2) This wasn’t a

documentary.

 

There were few things he was glad about, however. It wasn’t nearly as murky as he’d thought it

would be, making things somewhat easier to see. Not that there was much to see.

 

_Oh fuck,_ Marco thought, _where the hell is the sea floor?_

 

He wants to panic—wants to worry he will get lost within a vast Atlantic Ocean some way or

another. He wants to go back up to the surface to something he recognizes.

 

But he won’t.

 

Down here he sees a vastness of nothing that Connie nor Sasha can experience and as selfish

as it is, it is his, even for just a moment.

 

_“Everything okay, Marco?”_

 

He finds the safety harness strap on his back and tugs once.

 

Marco traveled further underwater, immensely dissatisfied with being too close to the surface. He

uncaps one of the vials, and a bubble of air releases with the pop off the lid. He caps it back and

secures it onto his belt.

 

He swims lower, determined to find the seafloor for a sample of seaweed and sedimentary.

There are no fish from what he can see. No crabs, no shrimp, not even a lost minnow. It makes

Marco feel unsettled—as if the ocean were reclaiming its territory and it’ll be damned if Marco is

allowed to stay in it.

 

It’s not terribly dark when Marco reaches the end of his rope. He is halted with his safety

harness firmly keeping him in place despite how hard he swims.

 

_“Can’t go any further Marco. Try not to get vertigo.”_ Connie’s voice is covered with a layer of

static, making it hard to hear. _“You’re at five minutes.”_

 

Marco wants to touch the floor, feel the sand through his gloved hands, and examine it under a

microscope. He makes a brash decision.

 

He reaches behind him, teeth biting tightly on his oxygen mask, and unclasps the harness from his suit. He wiggles out of it and he is glad that it stays in place underwater. He returns to swimming to the sea floor, keeping his hands outstretched to feel for something.

 

He sees seaweed in the corner of his eye. It grew in bunches like a shrub in a suburban city, but grew brown with decay as if it reflected the coming life of the coast.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

 

_Poitou-Charentes was dying out._

 

Marco swam toward the seaweed, looking up steadily. He was alone in this ocean, and nothing but a small fraction of light penetrated this far below the water. He was a small human in a large amount of empty, and he felt he could lay here forever and be content with it. Be content with the nothing.

 

_“Three minutes, Marco.”_

 

But that wouldn’t save anything.

 

He grabbed a fistful of the seaweed and pulled it out of the ground, dislodging sand and rocks that were resting on it. Taking a closer look, almost all of the seaweed were in varying degrees of dying, the only green on it was fresh algae. If they were able to identify which algae and seaweed could coexist within the ecosystem without throwing it off balance, there were possibilities of bringing back Poitou-Charentes to its former fishing glory. He swims back to the harness, knowing full well he probably won’t be able to get back into it.

 

Marco sees motion on the corner of his eyes, and for a moment, he thinks it’s a fish. He wants it to be a fish, and it makes sense. If there were still seaweed growing, even near the ocean floor, fish could still live here.

Only it’s not a fish. It’s too big and too long to be a fish. Poitou-Charentes was too sparse to hold something this big.

 

Whatever it was, it saw Marco.

 

What worried Marco the most, was that it didn’t do anything.

 

It stayed still, its tail swishing back and forth the same way a cat would before it pounced.

There was something eerie in the way that it looked, the way it moved, and the way it—

 

_Oh shit, it’s coming right to me._

 

Marco was frozen as it swam closer to him. It was still too dark under the sea and it was too far away for any composite descriptions that he could ever give.

 

_“Marco, one minute left. Get the stuff we need and hop on out.”_

 

Marco’s eyes searched through the empty water for the harness, not finding it. Alone was one thing. Alone with something he’d never encountered before was another.

 

He saw it as it came closer, and for a moment he thought it was somebody else. A humanoid figure that was swimming endlessly in an empty ocean just like he was.

 

And then it swam up and right behind him. It studied him the same way he studied sting rays and dolphins and blow fish. He felt scrutinized and squeamish all at once.

 

Marco’s breathing was shallow, and he felt stuck. He still couldn’t move. His joints locked up and his body, pleading to _leave now,_ wouldn’t listen. Panic subsided within every fiber of his being, and rooted itself into every nerve. All he could feel was the cold temperatures of European water that he had ignored up until now and his body shivered involuntary.

 

“Marco, we aren’t seeing you, we’re pulling you out.”

 

Oh no.

 

From wherever the hell the harness was, Marco could presume that Connie was working the machinery to raise it up.

 

He was running out of oxygen and he knew he had to get out of here someway—

 

It was right in front of him.

 

And Marco blacked out.

  ~~~~\---------------------------------------------------------

 

It was cold. Or maybe he was cold. He wasn’t sure. Something was cold. Everything was cold?

 

It was bright and obnoxious and all kinds of unwanted presences he didn’t want to feel.

 

Was he hung over?

 

Marco couldn’t remember the last time he drank any alcohol. He couldn’t remember where he was or why everything was so bright or why it was so god damn cold.

 

" _Es-tu réveillé?"_

 

Marco sat up quickly, regretting his decision instantly. He was light headed in ways he’d never quite experienced before. He was on a beach shore. The ocean waves lapped at the sand fondly, in the most secluded part of Poitou-Charentes he had seen. His hand laid upon his goggles on the sand. They must have been taken off.

 

_"_ _Es-tu réveillé?"_

 

Marco looked up to see a person hiding behind a rock. He was pale in ways he hadn’t seen before, and his hair, drenched, clung onto his face. He rested his elbows on the rock and let his hands cover his ears.

 

“I don’t-- I don’t speak French.” Marco said. He was still wearing the scuba gear, the only exception a harness that could have pulled him up to a place he recognized.

 

Scuba diving gear. Ocean. A sea creature.

 

“What..” Marco took the cap over his head off, letting it fall back. The bluetooth was still in his ear. “Where am I?”

 

“Poitou-Charentes.” He said. “You’re in Poitou-Charentes.”

 

English. He spoke English.

 

Marco looked over to him. “How did I get here?”

 

The man frowned, “I just saved your life.” He rolled his eyes at Marco. “What were you doing out in the middle of the ocean, anyway?”

 

“I was researching Poitou-Charentes.” Marco said, he rubbed his hair loose. He was alive. Oh thank God he was alive. “I’m a marine biologist and--”

 

There was a problem.

 

There was only one other _anything_ there with him when he was under water.

 

“ _But why?”_

 

“I was…” Marco began. He remembers a frightening image, but he isn’t sure if he can place it properly. He was scared, and it was very possible for his mind to have twisted the image into a contorted memory to scar Marco. He thinks it’s possible, because the man hiding behind the rock was a cute face with an angry disposition. “I was…”

 

Marco thinks the man raises his eyebrows in an unimpressed manner. He can’t be sure. The damp hair was long enough for it to tickle the top of his eyelashes.

 

“I didn’t get your name.” Marco says. “If you saved me, I’d like to know who it is.”

 

“My name is Jean.” He says. “What were you doing in the ocean?”

 

“Were you in there too?”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“Did.. did you see anybody else with me?”

 

Marco swears Jean’s face paled more than possible. He looks down at the rock, breaking eye contact with him, looking out towards the ocean. Marco raised himself to his knees, crawling over to Jean slowly.

 

There is a movement behind the rock that makes Marco think Jean is startled and almost makes him stop.

 

“Jean?” Marco asks. He lowers his voice, despite them being the only ones there. “Was that you there with me?”

 

It’s a long shot, and he knows it. He thinks that whatever he saw shouldn’t be real, and that logically it wouldn’t be possible. Evolution would have made them look different. There’s no proof. It was impossible.

 

Jean looked up without lifting his head and the eye contact was so sharp Marco felt he was cut in a million different places at once. Marco felt Jean was getting angry. He didn’t know if it was because he was getting closer, or because Marco wouldn’t stop asking questions.

 

“You passed out.” Jean whispered. “When you saw me, you passed out and I brought you here.”

 

Marco stopped going closer to Jean. He saw miniscule details that he was sure it was only possible to see up close. His bare skin was so pale, it was was almost blue. He was sure it was blue in the most translucent ways. His hair was fine, but wild as if it had never met anything to tame it. His eyes seemed to have a film over it, in a way that reminded him of cats. Speckled on his cheeks hints of discoloration in patches that he could’ve mistaken for vitiligo but the appearance of texture made it resemble scales.

Marco’s face grew into a smile as he studied these small abnormalities of Jean. He was fascinated. He wanted to see more. He wanted to learn more.

 

“Are you..?” Marco trailed off. He sat back on his legs and pushed his hair back. _Personal space,_ he reminded himself, _He saved your life._

 

“Am I what?” Jean snapped at him. “You almost died and I saved you.”

 

Marco let out a laugh that sounded hollow. He wasn’t sure why he laughed at that. “Why are you hiding behind a rock?”

 

Jean glared at him, but Marco did not waver. He couldn’t feel threatened He _didn’t._

 

“The last time you saw me you fainted.” Jean grumbled. He looked away.

 

“Did that bother you?” Marco asked him. He pushed himself back onto his knees, and tried to make eye contact with him for approval.

 

“It can really hurt a guy’s confidence, Marco.” Jean said. Marco was sure he was pouting.

 

There was an intimacy within the way that his name rolled off of Jean’s tongue.

 

“That was you down there?” Marco asked again. Jean slammed his hands down on the rock, showing his exasperation at Marco. his hands hit the rock with a wet smack on its irregular surface.

 

“Yes!” Jean breathed, “That was me.”

 

Marco gasped.

 

In place of his ears, where Jean had covered with his hands up until that point were two symmetrical head fins the side of his face. They were a blue a shade darker than his skin, webbed so delicately and thinly, they were almost transparent.

 

It was him. I was Jean. Jean was the sea creature that he had saw and in the most remarkable ways, it had taken an unexpected turn.

 

“Do you have a tail?” He asked. Marco almost winced, but his excitement overtook him. He was too forward. He was prying too much in a world he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be in.

 

_Why wouldn’t I be? I’m a marine biologist._

 

Instead of answering, Jean looked away, and with a slam into the sand near the rock, lo and behold was his tail.

 

He was a merman. _Holy shit_ it was a merman.

 

Marco nearly stumbled over himself rushing to get to him for a closer look. It was glorious. With iridescent colors that  glimmered off the sun’s reflection like a fish’s would, it went up to his waist, and faded out into his torso.

 

“Beautiful.” Marco breathed out. “Remarkable. Everything about you is so _infinitely remarkable.”_

 

Jean blushed in the most _human_ way possible. They were too different, but similar in mannerisms. He was fascinated. He was surprised. He was _excited in all places all at once._

 

“How long have you--” Marco asked, a hand reaching out to touch the tail, he stopped inches away from the scales and looked up to Jean. “May I?”

 

Jean shrugged, and looked away from the marine biologist. Marco pulled the gloves off his hand and threw them over his shoulder.  Jean stayed still as Marco’s hand gently swept up and down his tail.

 

“What were you doing in the ocean?” Jean asked. He was scared. He was the one at a disadvantage here on the land. But Marco wouldn’t hurt him. He couldn’t. Whatever disadvantages he held on land, he made up for in strength. No matter where Jean was, he had a fighting chance. “The colors on your cheek. I thought they were scales. I thought you were like me.” Jean reached out a blue finger to touch one of  Marco’s freckles. His hands were webbed.

 

“I was taking samples.” Marco said. He gently probed his finger under a scale. “The sand. The water. The seaweed.”

 

Jean squinted. “Why?”

 

“It’s dying out. Poitou-Charentes is dying out and we want to figure out why.”

 

“Who else was with you?”

 

“My team. They were on the boat--” Marco’s face paled. He was in a secluded area of the place they were studying and they were probably sick with worry and guilt about losing him. “They don’t know where I am.”

 

“I didn’t want them to know where I was taking you.” Jean said. The innocence in the way Jean had said it made it so _scandalous,_ he couldn’t help his blush.

 

For the second time that day, Marco made another selfish decision.

 

_I’m going to stay here with Jean._

 

He was going to worry about Connie and Sasha later.

  
“You’re a beautiful creature, Jean.” Marco repeated, “Absolutely stunning.”


End file.
